"Because I asked," Lennox grins. "You're right, I could be a serial killer. I'll start to walk the opposite direction if you like..." He begins to turn but stops at her name and goes back to where he was.

"Consider me prepared. Fortunately for us, we can order all the desserts you want," he laughs, obviously undeterred at the knowledge of this woman poaching from his plate. "You do need to share one more thing with me: your name."

Soleil presses the call button as soon as she receives Elouise's most recent text. It's clear that meeting in person isn't an option, and Soleil is tired of this futile back-and-forth messaging. She wants an answer, an explanation. Something, anything. The line rings a few times before the call connects, and when it does, Soleil is speechless. She'd been prepared to yell, curse, and scream at the woman she'd once loved vehemently, but now... in this moment? She's unable to make a sound.

Elouise
Life has a nasty way of giving you the finger when you finally think everything is perfect. One day, all is well, the next, it isn't.
Aye, I do believe it's possible. I believe most things are possible, if improbable.

Elouisecontinues to read:
"Dear Diary,
Jameson and Elouise are bullies. I hate them. They make me sick. They're the scum between my toes."adds for emphasis, mocks;
"They were so hospitable. How dare they take me under their wing and give me a home. Total garbage."

Deep down, Soleil knows that's a lie. Elouise had been her best friend; the bond they shared was unmistakable, undeniable. More importantly, it's permanent. The young Whitaker hated Elouise for the things she'd coerced her into doing, hated herself for being so easily betrayed. But, the older woman would always, always hold a small part of Soleil's heart captive. And that, perhaps, was what she hated most.

It’s not hatred or resentment that push the words out from between her lips. Rather, it’s unabashed honesty. Soleil’s view of the woman had changed drastically in the days following Trista’s death - the affair had just acted as a catalyst for her abrupt departure from Moscow.

Elouise is practically sprinting away before the younger woman can continue with her response. Logan gurgles quietly in his car seat, fully awake and attentive. Soleil steps closer, fingers reaching out to caress the infant’s rosy cheek. Their eyes lock for a moment, and Soleil can’t help but notice the uncanny resemblance in the child’s features. She’d been swindled. Again. Forced into a situation that she knows will turn out to be more than problematic.

“F*ck you, Elouise. Honestly, f*ck you.”

With a deep breath, Soleil retrieves her phone to type out a quick message to her wife. This is not going to end well. Soleil can feel it.

If Soleil Whitaker is at all phased by Elouise’s new nature, she most certainly does not let it show. She stares, arms still crossed over her chest. “I will always be grateful for what you did for me, Elouise. I’d be dead without you,” she states without a hint of insincerity. The older woman had, indeed, saved Soleil’s life. And yes, they had loved eachother - vehemently in their own ways. Truth be told, Soleil could never hate Elouise. Not for the affair, at least.

“I hate you because you used me, not because we slept together. I hate that you knew what I felt for you, and exploited it. You manipulated me for your own selfish benefit.”

In Jameson’s frequent absence, it had been Soleil who’d kept his bride company. In El’s desperate search for him, Soleil had been the one to clean up the mess. Any request for assistance, the young Whitaker would come running, no questions asked. It’d only been in hindsight that Soleil was just a pawn in Elouise’s game.

“I’m not doing you any more favors. We took care of eachother when necessary. But, that child is not my responsibility.”

The sudden physical contact is enough to set something loose in Soleil’s composure. “Don’t f*cking touch me,” she seethes. The blonde’s hold is a lot stronger than Soleil remembers, but it’s blatant rage that gives her the strength to yank her arm away.

She glances at the infant, who stirs slightly at the sound of her raised voice. Shaking her head, she continues, more quietly, “I’m done doing you favors, Elouise. Maybe you should’ve taken a second to think before you slaughtered all the people who could’ve taken him.” The comment is intended to sting, and Soleil hopes that El is beginning to get the message.

“We’re finally happy again. I’m not letting your inability to care for another human being f*ck that up.”

The request of aid hadn’t even come in the form of a question. Rather, it had been a statement, as if Elouise had caught a whiff of the momentary hesitation. Soleil had always been a complete sucker for her best friend, and that dogged devotion had f*cked her in the end.

She traps the words behind her teeth. There will be no bending under El’s charm; Soleil’s jaw sets, hands clench into tight fists. The request takes her by surprise, but it’s pettiness and resentment that first prompt her to reply. Of course Elouise needed help. And of motherf*cking course she had sought out her former right hand man.

“If I don’t, what?”

Soleil doesn’t wait for a reply because she’s already made up her mind. She’d taken the time to methodically erase every hint of Elouise, the Order, and her time abroad. Absolved of the marital offenses she’d committed against Rhiannon, the young Whitaker had vowed to never initiate contact, or seek El’s company. In this moment, she is still true to her word.

“I can’t,” she states firmly, arms coming up to cross over her chest, “And even if I could, why would I want to?”

There’s no doubt in Soleil’s mind that Elouise has some kind of plan in place. She’d been sent coordinates, a sign of standard Orlav meticulousness. It doesn’t take long to reach her destination.

“You could’ve just said Cherry Hill, you know. The coordinates were a little extra.”

Soleil runs a hand through her brunette locks - the platinum blonde had seemed a little too immature for her newly assumed maternal duties. Hazel eyes meeting icy blues for the first time in months. Something’s slightly awry in the woman’s nature, and the unfamiliarity sends a chill down Soleil’s spine. Still, she steps closer.

“What’s the deal?”

Straight to the chase. Get in, get out. Every second that passes in the blonde’s intoxicating proximity is a reminder of Soleil’s sins, weakening the still fresh sutures of her restless heart. Her resolve wavers just as her gaze drops, hands shove themselves deep into coat pockets. She inhales sharply, the shock of cold air giving her resolve new fervor.

The call is disconnected before Soleil can even finish the thought. Of course the older woman would have some kind of plan that Soleil would only be privy to in the moments just before it’s implemented. She mumbles, hoisting herself off the couch and up the stairs to change out of her ‘comfy clothes.' It’d been a short conversation, but in just those few minutes, Soleil had been drained of her energy. Typical of any correspondence with Elouise Orlav.

As promised, she receives a text with an address. Keys, wallet, helmet. How pathetic it is that she’s, once again, running to El’s side. But, her guard is up this time. With her family in mind, Soleil is cautious, and hyperaware of the older woman’s tactics - she’s over the Orlav charm.

Soleil falls silent, taking note of the way El inhales sharply. She listens for Wilson’s steady heartbeat on the floor above, picks up on the sound of a car passing in the street. She feels… weird. Elouise Orlav had always been an enigma to her, not only because she’d kept particular details hidden for the majority of their friendship. But, something in her tone does not sit well with the young Whitaker. Her free hand reaches up to fidget with a lock of platinum blonde hair. She’s not quite sure how to proceed with the conversation.

“Are you expecting me to just say ‘okay’ and move on?”

She lets out a heavy sigh.

“I’m tired of all this cryptic, secret bullsh*t, El. I stood by your side for a long time, no questions asked. But, I’m over it. Secrets kill."

Soleil can’t help but scoff. “You’ve been watching, huh? That’s a lot, Elouise. Even for you.” The young woman had chosen to ignore the fact that she was under constant surveillance in Moscow - it wasn’t a secret that Dr. Orlav and his wife liked to keep the Order’s members in check. But, to know that El had been watching, even after the demise of their relationship, does come as a shock.

“I do know him, actually,” she states, now standing to pace the length of the living room floor, “We’ve had minimal conversation, but we're at least acquaintances."

Soleil knows Elis Griffyn to be a conversationalist, a man of curiosity and quick wit. They’d first interacted during Elis’ ‘Be More Cordial’ phase, and had engaged in a few more polite conversations in the weeks to follow. But, beyond his gentlemanly manner and curious sense of humor, Soleil knows very little of the man.

“Who told you that?” Soleil asks, shifting to the edge of the couch. Concern is now palpable in her tone. “Elouise, what’re you… what the hell is going on?”

She’s speaking over the other woman, ignoring the affirmation of eternal love Elouise holds in her heart. But, at the mention of Wilson, her train of anxious and worried thoughts come to a screaming halt. “How do you know about Wilson?”

The Whitaker women hadn’t necessarily made the adoption public knowledge. Of course, Margot and Callum knew, but outside of family, very few people knew that they’d finally started a family. Her brow furrows as she tries to recall if she’d ever mentioned it to Elouise before their falling out. She’s been so caught up in her newly acquired maternal duties that all the days had started to blur together. Every day spent with Wilson and Rhiannon feels like an unsatisfactorily small moment.

How long had it been since she’d left Moscow? And the Order? Since she’d left her old life behind?

Soleil blinks. The sound of her voice is enough to make the young Whitaker’s heart skip a beat. It’s different, not quite so… lively. as it used to be. But, it’s familiar enough for Soleil to know, for certain, that she’s speaking to Elouise Orlav.

“El.”

It comes out as a whisper. She’s frozen with the phone pressed firmly to her ear; she wouldn’t be able to hang up, even if she wanted to. Somehow, her free hand lifts to clasp over her mouth. It’d been weeks since the last time they’d spoken. In fact, their last correspondence had been an expression of regret and disdain for their relationship.

A small part of her psyche is still angry, and Soleil wants nothing more than to let the fire rain down on her former best friend. Why now? Why do you keep coming back? Why can’t you just leave me the f*ck alone? Questions race through her mind. Instead, she lowers herself onto the couch slowly, and takes a stabilizing breath.

Life is good. Better than good. It’s perfect. After the affair, she’d harbored some pretty nasty feelings for Elouise Orlav. Now, her old life is a distant memory. The life she has now - the one she’s built with Rhiannon - is all she could ever ask for. Over the last few weeks, Soleil has grown comfortable in the routine of being a mother - she has abandoned her late, lazy mornings of television and cat naps. Instead, she wakes when her wife does, showers, brews two cups of coffee, and makes eggs and avocado toast for breakfast. She’s learned to be domestic, to be a homemaker - a role she would’ve scoffed at six months prior to the adoption.

It’s late. Wilson is asleep in his room - Soleil knows because she can hear his steady breath, and rhythmic heartbeat from the living room. She takes a moment, reveling in the stillness of the house. The living room is tidy, the kitchen cleaned top to bottom. The only thing she’s missing is her wife. Her phone rings as she pours herself a glass of wine, and without a glance at the caller ID, she accepts the call.

“Hey, babe. Are you headed home yet? I have an open bottle of wine, and an insatiable craving for you."

The young woman freezes. For a moment, her resolve weakens. But, she quickly realizes that even if Elouise is being honest, there is no benefit in falling for her charm. Soleil had done it once, and it almost cost her the life she'd worked so hard to build.

Elouise
In all honesty, you have no right to miss me.
I admit that we are both to be held accountable for our actions, but you took advantage of me.
You knew how I felt about you, Elouise. You always knew.

Soleil is just getting out of the shower when her phone chimes. Curious as to who might be texting her at this hour, she plucks the small device from its place on the window sill. The young Whitaker almost hurls the phone at the adjacent wall, shocked by the name that appears on the screen.

Elouise.

Her grip tightens as she glances at the closed bathroom door. Rhiannon is on the opposite side, still tangled up in their sheets. After the affair, Soleil had made a silent promise to cease all communication with the Orlavs. She’d made an exception when Elouise sent Fish home to New York.

Admittedly, she finds herself thinking of their relationship from time to time. But, Soleil knows that she’d cut off her own arm before she ever reached for Elouise Orlav again. That being said, she types out an noncommittal, yet honest response.

-grabs her shoulders-
-shakes not so gently-ELOUISE PRUDENCE. THERE CANNOT BE A BABY INSIDE OF ME. We literally just had this conversation and Atticus will tie cement blocks to my feet and throw me into the ocean.
-twitches-If I ignore it, it'll just go away!
-sage nod-

Soleil and Rhiannon are thrilled to have their three-legged, cuddle loving canine back in New York; the brownstone finally feels like home again. The younger Whitaker sits on the edge of the kitchen counter, watching her wife put away the last of dinner's leftovers. She smiles, the happiness in her heart radiating throughout her muscles and bones. When Rhiannon retreats into the living room, Soleil pulls out her phone.

Out of impulse, she'd told Elouise to cut ties and delete her contact information. Perhaps hypocritically, she hadn't brought herself to do the same. Her thumbs hover over the touchscreen keyboard, poised to tap out a lengthy text expressing her feelings for the woman she'd once called her best friend. Instead, she types the two most honest words she knows.

Elouise
I've not seen many babies in clubs, but that doesn't mean we can't be trendsetters. Japanese are odd ducks and they love things that are kawaii. So like, that should mean Logan is allowed in without question.

Oh! He had a plan for this bit too. And as the onesie-clad wonder appeared in the window, Elis put down the boombox and grabbed two packets of Cheetos. With hands securely gripped around the bags, he applied pressure and pop, their contents sprung into the air like cheesy, delicious confetti. He raised his voice and declares...

"YOU! I HEAR YOU GAVE YOUR HEAR TO ANOTHER WITHOUT GIVING ME THE CHANCE TO SHOW YOU MINE. SO I THOUGHT I'D TAKE THE NEXT LOGICAL STEP AND LET YOU FRIEND ZONE ME. ELOUISE, WILL YOU DO ME THE HONOUR OF LETTING ME SPOON YOU IN A ONSIE WHILE WE WATCH NETFLIX TOGETHER AND EAT ALL THE FOOD?"

Lucius was all but happy to take Logan into his arms and cuddle the tiny baby, "Such a handsome boy" He chuckled softly before answering Elouise, "Moana is a great movie! But why are you showing my newphew the Shining???" His eyes narrowed down at Elouise slightly before laughing again, "Thank you though for the room, Ill take it! We aren't moving from London though we just figured since we are going to be visiting Romania a lot then why not have a house there too, ya know? You can come and visit any time too. Its a bit warmer than Moscow." He paused then grin slightly.

Text To: Herpes R USThat was a really lovely song. I wish I could hear you sing it. Unfortunately, the hazmat suit I'd be forced to wear in your vicinity makes it rather hard to hear. And, the most important part, I don't actually want to be near you. How the fvck did you get my number? Are you stalking me?

Lucius smiled when Elouise came out with Logan and hugged her back, "She is still in Romania with my folks. She wanted to do more house shopping but asked me to give you a hug and a kiss for Logan for her, which reminds me." He leaned over to give Logan a small kiss on the top of his head, "Hows is my adopted nephew doing??" He smiled wider at the baby then looked back up at Elouise, "I like Moscow. I heard of your invitation and decided to represent the coven. You got a room for me to stay in?"

It takes only Elouise's entrance into the room for Jameson to forgo the rest of his work. She finds his lap, curling up easily as she always had. But before he fulfils his duty in the exchange of words, he pulls himself away if only slightly, fingers tucking behind the dip of her neck and thumbs pressing her chin to tip her head in the direction of his own.

And then he attacks. His lips to hers, taking his new year kiss late, but in its entirety.

"You need to be telling your husband that, love, not me, though I am glad you're willing to talk to me about it," she softens the rebuke with her gratitude. Elouise may not be all there, or entirely reliable, but she's still a friend.

Leaning over, Autumn gives the other woman's cheek a kiss. There is nothing beyond a platonic relationship implied in the gesture. It's meant for affection and comfort.

"Indeed you will. Go on home and fix things. I know he adores you, and you him. You've had time to think and cool down. Off with you." Knocking back the rest of her Johnnie, Autumn winks and flashes a cheeky grin. "I promise not to take it personally."

Elouise is laying flat against the floor. It was a good thing she decided to speak up or he would have stepped right on her. Still, Jameson can't help but think that she seems a little off. Her insistence that he sit procures a loosely furrowed brow over his gaze. Its as though she's about to tell him that she has the plague. Or wants to.. leave him.

He shutters as his heart flutters, but he sits. Not flat against the floor, but with his legs crossed beneath him. Then, without warning, she presents her ailment to him. Simply, with no argument or stall. It makes sense to him now. Her anguish. Her mourning.

Pregnant.

"El, you're.." Teeth grind blindly against his lip while he tries his hardest to digest, "Is this real? You really are?"

Jameson Orlav. Family man?

An energy begins to build inside of him, but it does not resemble anger, or bewilderment. He doesn't seem to be ill tempered or disappointed, but simply.. Happy. Happy as a grin spreads across his lips, lighting his eyes as the smile spreads over them. Jameson pounces, his limps wrapping around his wife, squeezing harder than he had realized as laughed into her hair.

Again, he gets another alarming text from Elouise. While she promises no trickery, he can't help but wonder what was waiting for him on the other side of the cell phone. It was just their thing. Playful banter. Frivolous lies. It was all in good fun, usually. But Jameson doesn't jump right away. Instead, he sends a text back;Elouise
Be there soon.

And finishes up what he is working on, knowing that it won't take him very long. Numbers could always wait, but he's got so much meticulous work backed up on his desk. He would soon need to hire an assistant..

Soon, he finds his way to their suite. The door is open, as it often is during the day when they were around.

"Ellie?" Jameson pushes through the doorway, eyes searching the room for the blonde as he sheds his jacket. "Where are you? What's wrong?"

Did he get to sleep? Of course not. Not when she was out. Not until she got home. Always. Jameson sits up in bed, glasses setting against his nose as he read through his copy of a newly published medical resource journal. Boring? Maybe. But necessary.

Then she busted through the door. Brownie crumbling from her mouth. Eyes bloodshot. Tequila breath invading the room.

She was mad.

"Elouise?" He shuts the book, setting it to the side and throwing the covers from his legs. "What the.." Oh. The how. So Noura couldn't even wait 24 hours to turn his life upside down. "Listen, you're already making this into a bigger deal than it needs to be. Really."

Elouise draws away from their simple embrace and the in sudden lack of connection between thrm, Jameson almost allows a sound of detest to emanate from within his throat. The man brings down soft white teeth against his lower lip for a split second, catching the sound before it falls from his mouth.Stubborn.

She stares at him, waiting for him to break the silence, but he allows it to linger. Maybe longer than Elouise would have preferred, but Jameson doesn't get moments. Not moments of the savoring sort, at any rate. So he would allow them what felt like eons to digest the energy. After all, it had taken them many pranks and morph-child deaths to get here.

"Finally." Jameson's hand moves from the space in her hair and his fingertips are trailing lightly over the delicate skin of her jaw. This is before his hand cups at her cheek, and his thumb begins to rub absently at the corner of her mouth and over her chin. His expression is soft, and his eyes dance wildly. Aflame with amusement. Eagerness. Excitement.

Breathing wasn't on Jameson's mind. He may not have even noticed if he'd stopped. The man is completely oblivious. Had his own breathing become erratic now that he'd initiated an outward display of sorts? When she looked up at him, searching for certainty with those bright eyes of hers, did his own breath hitch?

He couldn't be sure. But what he was confident about was the fluidity of his movement, and the way his reactions to her always seemed to come naturally. Jameson's instinctive way of feeding off of Elouise's energy was filled with nothing if not positivity.

So when he begins to lean forward once more, and his fingers find the mess of blonde tucked behind her ear, he doesn't think twice about allowing them to tangle. One hand finds the curve of her back to pull her just a little closer, and Jameson's touch is more gentle than he seems capable as his hand cradles the nape of her neck. All of his hesitation melts when he finally presses his lips against her own, simple and unassuming.

Curious eyes have dropped to where her hands have reached for the fabric of his jacket, flattening against the leather. A grin may have tugged at the onset of his mouth at the corner almost involuntarily as she spoke.. As it often did. Jameson is a stubborn man, and being such meant he was not normally the type to be read. It seemed much harder for him to hide with this damn quinoa around all the time.

He would not complain.

"Yes, fine." Jameson leans against her touch just a little, until her hands wander to the tops of his shoulders, "You do deserve it. Props are in order for your taco enthusiasm and your willingness to dress in matching onesies."

He's rolling his eyes, but he smiles. A toothy, almost goofy grin. He's amused, whole heartedly and without an excuse or a cover.

There's very little warning when Jameson leans in and the inches between them close quickly. He stops when the stubble of his face is brushing against the perfectly smooth skin of her own. In an apparent display of affection, the man nuzzles the very tip of his nose and lips against her cheek, and if she paid close attention, she would feel him smile.

"Its kněžna, you potato." Because even in the midst of a moment the man just can't help himself.